Group Traded Cash For Control

MUSIC

Musical Sincerity Is Important For Toad The Wet Sprocket

They swiped their name from one of those batty Monty Python radio skits . . . something about a tragically hip rock band that couldn't play a note.

''And now ladies and gentleman, here's the band, Toad the Wet Sprocket!''

The four California musicians who would eventually become the real Toad the Wet Sprocket liked the way that intro sounded on the radio - even if it was the punchline of a degenerate comic send-up.

But don't let their interest in that sort of silliness fool you. The guys in Toad have a serious streak.

When they signed with Columbia Records, they already had two promising homemade discs behind them and very definite ideas about their style and direction.

So they did something that's becoming more common in the music business. They refused the usual record deal that would have offered lots of cash and perks up front. Instead, they bargained for a lower-paying contract that would in turn offer band members near total control over their own music and video image.

Together nine years, the light-alternative rock band has just released its fourth album, Dulcinea. It follows 1991's Fear, a set that was expected to be a strong alternative contender but instead had a Top 40 run with two singles, ''All I Want'' and ''Walk on the Ocean.''

All that radio play spurred an endless tour (275 one-nighters). Now the band is at it again (its Orlando stop will be at the Edge Tuesday) while Dulcinea heads upward on Billboard magazine's album chart.

Still, after all this, the Santa Barbara-based band is hardly on millionaire's row.

''The only way to do it, in my opinion, is to take less money and have more control,'' said bassist Dean Dinning. ''We see everything. Every photo, every piece of artwork. Every line written about us.''

Because Columbia has less input, band members absorb up front much more of the cost of making their music than do other artists.

''This is the only business in which the artist is charged back for the creation of the product,'' Dinning said of the high cost of videos, touring and recording.

In the end, almost every artist pays some of those costs too but usually a lower percentage and only after a large profit is turned.

Yet Dinning and his bandmates - Randy Guss (drums), Todd Nichols (guitar, vocals) and Glen Phillips (guitar, vocals, keys) - worry less about cash flow and more about where their band is headed.

Two smash singles would tempt any record label to milk the Top 40 appeal. After all, that's where most of the money in pop music is made.

But Dinning is determined to hang on to every last thread of Toad's ''college credibility'' - a reputation earned in the late '80s with the independent releases, Bread and Circus (recorded for $650) and the follow-up, Pale.

''I don't pretend to understand how that side of the business works,'' Dinning said of the decisions record executives make. ''But I know what we want our music to sound like.''

That's not to indict hit-radio, but Dinning says he wouldn't be crushed if Dulcinea doesn't grab the masses. Like most young rock musicians who came of age during a time when alternative really meant alternative, he's content to go back to the fringe as long as Toad has a loyal following.

He cites R.E.M. as one band he admires in spite of ''changes'' that have occurred to the group's sound as it became immensely popular.

''They're still R.E.M., but they're not the same. There's been a conscious change of direction there. I still respect them. They've had a great career. They burst out with pop songs that just gave them the world.''

The desire to keep Toad hot on college radio is all over Dulcinea. Though still more melodic and lighter than some alternative releases, Dulcinea has a spare and folksy kind of sound. Lyrics offer blunt realizations, caustic impressions and the usual angst about doomed relationships. Band members, now in their middle and late 20s, haven't lost their teen spirit.

''We prefer not to be categorized,'' Dinning said, echoing the sentiment of thousands of recording artists. ''We used to be huge,'' he said of the band's early days as California cult faves. ''But we weren't selling any records. Now I think we've reached a middle ground.''

Of the more angry, dissident grunge that has engulfed alternative playlists over the last four years, Dinning says he is not particularly impressed. Not with most of the music, not with the trend in general.

''Heavier music will always have a place in my life. I don't know . . . this might just be a name thing. (Grunge) is really just metal but repackaged and with better lyrics. The jury's still out.''